


Lost River (never reached the sea)

by SageMasterofSass



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Sheriff Stilinski is dead, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills, Stiles Leaves the Pack, Suicidal Thoughts, and things go to hell, basically Stiles is just a fucking mess, but then he comes back, good thing Derek is there to pick up the pieces, sorry - Freeform, vaguely referenced eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:46:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5833060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years Stiles has been gone. Three years, and then out of the blue he shows up on Derek's front porch, bloody and bruised and in need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been sitting on this one for a while, and I finally decided to just bite the bullet and post the first half. Hopefully I'll be inspired enough to finish it up sometime soon, despite school and work, but we'll see. 
> 
> Warnings at the end! Please read them if you're worried about triggering material, because this thing is pretty heavy.

Derek hears the frantic pounding of a heart long before he hears the knock on his front door.

He’s alone in the rebuilt Hale house, enjoying the rare silence by getting in some reading time with the books he bought recently. The rest of the pack is out doing their own things; Scott and Allison are on a day trip to San Francisco, a chance to spend some time alone together, Erica and Boyd are visiting Boyd’s family, Isaac and Lydia are ‘supplementing their wardrobes’ and Jackson is out of the state on vacation. 

And because the Hale house is out in the middle of the preserve, Derek really isn’t expecting the sound of footsteps on gravel, or for someone to show up on his porch sounding like they’re seconds from going into cardiac arrest.

Derek opens the door without bothering to check who it is first, brow creased in concern but not a small amount of suspicion as well.

The first thing that hits him is a veritable wall of scent; pain and anxiety and hopelessness and, overwhelming everything else, thick and cloying and terrible, is a near animalistic fear.

The second thing that hits Derek is the sight of a thin, pale man, shoulders hunched and dark eyes too large in his bruised face.

It’s Stiles.

oOo

Three years ago, Stiles had graduated from high school and decided to accept the offer of a full scholarship from Stanford. The pack had been so happy for him, even if the school was a day or two’s drive away, because they knew just how terribly intelligent Stiles was, and they wanted him to succeed. It meant losing him for a while, but they were willing to accept that.

They’d thought he’d return to them.

For the first few months of Stiles’ freshman year, he was good about keeping in contact with everyone. He Skyped Scott and Isaac, texted the girls, Boyd, and on occasion Jackson too, and called Derek nearly every day.

Around that three month mark, his contact started to taper off, dwindling bit by bit.

By the time his first semester was over, he hadn’t talked to anyone in the pack in over a month. The only person to have heard from him was his father, and the Sheriff said he really didn’t offer any kind of explanation for why he’d suddenly dropped off the face of the planet.

At first, everyone was worried about him, concerned. The longer he continued to avoid them though, the more bitter they grew. He didn’t even come home for Christmas.

Since Scott had been the one to help Stiles move in, he went down to the school during what should have been the human’s second semester intending to confront him, only for his roommate to tell Scott that Stiles had transferred away months before.

Dejected and feeling spurned, Scott returned to the pack to tell them the news, and their anger grew.

Stiles’ cell number disconnected, he called the Sheriff even less often, and then insisted his father didn’t share anything he said with the pack. Just as concerned about his son as everyone else, and in the know about werewolves by that point, the Sheriff hadn’t bothered trying to hide any information from them. Which would have been useful if Stiles had ever actually _given_ him any information, but he hadn’t, and they had nothing to explain why Stiles had ditched them, abandoned the entire pack without so much as a good riddance.

The one time the Sheriff tried to trace the number Stiles called from, it disconnected the very next day, and every time he called after that the number was blocked. Then the Sheriff died, and so did their last connection with Stiles.

They didn’t try finding him again.

Three years after he first left, Stiles has become the black smear on their memories, nothing left for him but a bubbling sense of hurt and betrayal that never really got better over time, was only buried under the rest of their lives.

oOo

There’s no car in the driveway.

Derek peers around Stiles to make sure, but no, there’s no sign that the human drove here, which means he walked the entire two miles from the main road to the house.  There’s no telling if he’d walked the main road too, from where and for how long, but exhaustion is definitely one of the scents rolling off of him.

For a minute, they simply stare at each other, Derek in confusion and mounting tension, and Stiles with bloodshot eyes, his body trembling minutely.

Finally, cracked lips part. “I-I…I need a p-place to stay,” he says, and his voice is wrecked and tentative.

Derek has absolutely no idea what to feel right now. That betrayal and pain is bubbling angrily up his throat, a frothy, thick mess, but looking at the man before him, smelling how his natural scent is almost completely lost under pain of his own, it makes concern well up also. The end result is a guarded wariness, instinct to protect and care warring with a scar that had never quite healed being ripped open anew.

It must show on his face, because Stiles shifts his weight and sticks his hands under his armpits, arms crossed over his chest in a huddled, defensive position.

“Please,” he near-whispers. “Please, just for a d-day. Just a day, th-then I’ll go a-again. I didn’t know wh-where else to go.”

The word ‘again’ makes Derek’s fingers tighten dangerously where he’s gripping the doorframe, and the wood creaks with a loud protest. The noise has Stiles flinching away, head ducked and body carrying him two steps back to the edge of the porch like he’s expecting a blow.

In the end, it’s that movement that makes Derek grit out, “Fine,” between clenched teeth and lead Stiles into the house.

He’s dubious about it, because the pack’s home is going to smell like Stiles now, and though there’s no one here at this very second, when they return just the man’s mere presence will throw all of them into emotional turmoil, much less having his scent in their very den.

Derek seriously considers telling the rest of the pack to keep their distance for a while, until he can either get rid of Stiles or wring some answers out of him.

Stiles doesn’t say anything else, just waits for Derek to close the front door and then follows him to the living room and stands awkwardly in the doorway. It’s wrong, the muted curiosity on his bruised face. He should be babbling by this point, asking questions, making a nuisance of himself or trying to talk his way out of the last three years.

Instead he just stands in that one spot while Derek sits back down on the couch, eyes flickering around the room but never settling on any one thing for longer than a few seconds.

“Stiles,” Derek eventually sighs in frustration. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He didn’t think it was possible for the human to get even more tense, but it is and he does. Stiles licks his cracked lips and looks anywhere but at Derek. “I told you, I n-need a place to st-stay.”

“Why?”

No response.

“Where have you been?” That’s really what Derek wants to know, and why the hell Stiles is acting the way he is, why he’s covered in bruises and dried blood. But that question only gets a jerky shake of the head as an answer.

Derek contemplates the man in front of him and realizes that he doesn’t actually believe that this is Stiles. Stiles is vibrant and intelligent and mouthy. This stranger is broken. Broken and fearful and trembling, awkward and tentative in the way he moves, nervous when he goes to speak.

He wants to bring the real Stiles back. Desperately.

“Would you like a shower?” he asks after another minute passes in silence. That gets him brief eye contact before Stiles drops it and gives a little nod. The werewolf leads him to the bathroom and shows him how the knobs work and promises to bring clean clothes for him to wear.

Maybe if Derek covers him in pack scent, that will help bring the real Stiles back.

He picks out a pair of sweats and a soft, worn Henley, both his. When he comes back into the bathroom it’s steamy and hot and Stiles stays completely quiet while Derek switches out the clothing, taking the ratty shirt and jeans he was wearing earlier to throw them out.

oOo

Stiles collapses in an exhausted heap in the guest room when he comes out of the shower. Clean, he smells of lingering pain, anxiety, something frail and soft that might be hope, and of course Derek since he’s wearing the wolf’s clothing. His own natural scent is still muddled and distant, but it is stronger than it was before, and it’s just enough to make Derek’s chest ache because _Stiles._

That man standing on his front porch just doesn’t compute in Derek’s brain as Stiles. But his scent? Even covered up as it is, cannot be mistaken for anything or anyone else. It’s the ghost from Derek’s past returned, and his stomach churns uncomfortably because honestly what does he do? Does he accept Stiles with open arms? Does he demand answers? Does he kick the man out because of his betrayal?

 Derek rubs a hand over his face and decides he’ll try and talk to Stiles first, figure out exactly what the situation is, why he’s here in the first place. Then he’ll make a decision. In the meantime, he texts the pack to stay away for a day or two and that he’ll explain why later. They’ve all come a long ways in trusting each other, he them, and they him, so they all give curious but accepting responses.

He’ll reveal Stiles’ presence when he actually knows what the fuck he’s going to do with the human.

oOo

When Stiles wakes up that evening, several hours later, he seems a little more like himself. He’s lost most of his stutter, and his shoulders aren’t quite so tense, though he does tend to flinch if Derek moves too quickly around him.

Derek makes dinner for them, and they sit quietly at the kitchen table while they eat. Eventually the silence gets to be too much, and the werewolf heaves a sigh and sets his fork down with a small clatter.

The noise jerks Stiles’ attention towards him, a quick spike of fear invading his scent before it begins to disperse again. There are still dark circles under his eyes, but the golden brown color of his irises is much lighter than it was when he’d first shown up, not quite so despairing.

“Did you get in a fight?” Derek decides to ask. It’s not the most important question on his mind, but it’s something, and he just wants to see how much information, if any, the human will give up.

“No,” is all he gets in response. He resists the urge to sigh dramatically.

“You’re bruised up pretty bad.”

“Yeah.”

There’s purple swelling along his jaw and the bridge of his nose, and his bottom lip is busted and cracked. The way he moves suggests other bruises, other injuries, hidden under his clothing, and still he doesn’t say anything else about it.

Derek does sigh this time, before asking once more, “Stiles, why are you here?”

The man stills but doesn’t look up from his plate, though he does set down his fork and drop his hands into his lap.

“My father’s dead.”

oOo

John Stilinski died six months ago.

He’d had a serious stroke during a night shift at work, and was dead before the paramedics could get to him.

It had been devastating to the pack as a whole, but especially to Scott and his mother.

Stiles hadn’t shown up for the funeral.

oOo

Derek can physically feel the way his features twist in anger. The pain of losing a pack mate is too soon, too fresh, for him to be sympathetic about it.

“He died six months ago.”

Stiles turns his head away from the words, hands tightening into fists in his lap. His scent is being soured by grief so thick it could be drowned in. “I didn’t know,” he whispers.

That stuns Derek into silence before he can gather his wits about him again. “What the hell do you mean, you didn’t know?” he asks, though it comes out more of a demand, and he has to physically grit his teeth to keep from yelling anything else.

“I mean, _I didn’t know,_ ” Stiles snaps, and for that brief spark of a second, he’s his old self, confident and sure. But then he shrinks again, curling away from Derek and his accusations like a dry leaf curling from flames. “I only found out a few days ago.”

How is that possible? Had Stiles simply made himself so completely inaccessible that not even the authorities could find him in order to deliver the news? The confusion has Derek wilting a little, slumping back into his chair, his plate forgotten.

“You didn’t come to claim what he left behind so the state took it. There’s nothing left for you to inherit.”

“I didn’t come to inherit anything.”

“Then what did you come for?” There’s faint accusation in Derek’s tone and the old Stiles would have bristled at it. This one hunches his shoulders up around his ears.

“To visit his grave.”

Derek contemplates the other man and he can feel the rest of his anger beginning to slip away. There’s something unsaid, words that sit on the tip of Stiles’ tongue without actually being spoken, and whatever they are the werewolf knows they can’t be good.

“Where are you coming from?”

This time it’s Stiles who sighs. He drags his gaze to Derek’s laboriously as he says, “Chicago. Are you going to keep asking me questions?”

Chicago. That’s nowhere near Stanford, not even close.

What in hell was Stiles doing half way across the country that kept him from hearing about his own father’s death for months? That made him abandon a group of people who had considered themselves his best friends?

How the fuck did he even get from Chicago to Beacon Hills with no car?

When Derek doesn’t respond, Stiles drags his chair back and stands, only hanging around long enough to throw his unfinished food away and put his dishes in the sink. Then he disappears into the guest room and, from the sound of his slowing heartbeat, goes back to sleep.

oOo

Derek has known that Stiles was his mate since they first met.

Stiles had been way too young at the time though, a mere sixteen, and Derek hadn’t been in any place to try and touch a romantic relationship as serious as mates with a ten foot pole. He’d allowed them to draw together naturally over time, as Stiles matured and Derek healed, and by the time Stiles had graduated, the werewolf knew that he wanted to be with him.

Stiles was going to go away for college though, and Derek wasn’t going to try and tie him down when he had the opportunity to experience a normal life.

He’d been planning on telling Stiles when he graduated and came home.

Needless to say, Derek never got the chance.

He’s not sure he wants it now.

oOo

Stiles wakes in the middle of the night with his mouth clamped tight around a scream. It fights against his teeth and tears at his throat, bringing tears to his eyes, but still he holds it in and grips the pillow under his head tight to try and ride the pain out.

Eventually it crawls back down his throat and into his stomach, where it curls up and dies, leaving him feeling nauseated.

That’s when he realizes that the dark room around him is unfamiliar, and he has to fight down a sudden wave of panic too.

The instinct to hide his emotions, good and bad but especially the bad, is second nature to him now. That should make choking his panic down easier, but it really, really doesn’t. 

He sits up in the bed too empty and soft to be his own, and tries to peer around him. His chest is aching with emotional turmoil, and his body twinges with physical pain with every minute shift, and it’s these things that remind him of where he is and what he’s doing here.

Derek’s.

Stiles came back to Beacon Hills, a town he’d thought he’d never get to see again. He’s here to see his father one last time before he-

A knock on the door jars him out of his thoughts, and his body reacts instinctively by shying away from it. Before he has a chance to call out, the knob twists and Derek sticks his head inside, the hall light a golden halo behind his shadowed form.

“Stiles? Are you okay? Your heartbeat’s going crazy.”

Things with Derek have been…tense, ever since Stiles came back. And he’s only been back a matter of hours. He doesn’t blame the werewolf though; he can’t even begin to imagine what the pack thinks of him, how they must feel about him now.  

“Yeah,” he replies, but his voice is shaky and soft at best, and it’s obvious Derek doesn’t believe him as he just furrows his brow.

“It sounded like this when you showed up yesterday, too. I thought you were having a heart attack.”

Stiles shakes his head soundlessly and consciously loosens his fingers from where they’re clutching the comforter in his lap. “I’m fine, just a nightmare.”

The details of which he can’t remember, but he’s fairly confident of its contents.

When Derek continues to hover for a moment longer, Stiles gathers the tattered remains of his courage and asks the question he’s had on his mind ever since he found out. “Is he buried next to my mother?”

Derek’s lips thin, but he does nod his head, and Stiles can feel some of the tension ease out of his own shoulders. He’s not sure why he was so worried about that, but he was. He wants his parents to be together, even after death, wants them to always have each other.

“I’ll go see him tomorrow. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Out of Derek’s hair, out the pack’s, out of everyone’s really.

But that just makes the werewolf scowl harder. “I want to know why you left the first time before you leave again,” he counters, tone just this side of harsh. It makes Stiles want to curl up to protect himself against it, but he fights the impulse as best he can.

He doesn’t want to tell Derek, doesn’t want anyone to know the story. But, if things go as planned, he won’t be around to be shamed by it so there’s only a minimal amount of damage telling Derek can do.

The room is still dark though, and there’s no light shining behind the drawn blinds.

“In the morning,” Stiles says, though he knows he won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon.

Derek looks like he completely forgot that it’s the middle of the night, but he agrees easily before leaving, the door closing quietly behind him. His footsteps fade to nothing and the hall light flicks off.

Stiles sits in the dark again.

oOo

His first semester at Stanford had been amazing right up until the end.

He’d met Garrett at a party sometime in September.

By December everything had gone to hell, but Stiles hadn’t really realized it.

oOo

Morning dawns slow and painful, light bleeding through the blinds on the window in striped increments. They stretch across the floor towards the bed, but they never do reach it. At least not before Stiles levers himself to his feet, his body protesting the movement after sitting perfectly still for so long.

When he pads downstairs to the kitchen, Derek is already there, hip propped against the counter and a bowl of cereal balanced in the palm of one hand. He looks relaxed; warm and rumpled and utterly domestic in nothing but his low slung pajama bottoms and bed head.

Once upon a time, the sight of that bare chest would have had Stiles drooling, fantasies twisting around just behind his eyes.

There’s still a bit of lust sparking low in his gut now, but it’s buried beneath too much heavy shit, compressed and too damp to really catch fire. Stiles mourns the loss of such a normal bodily reaction.

“The rest of the pack is going to be back this afternoon,” Derek tells him casually, while Stiles is surveying the contents of the fridge despite the fact that he isn’t hungry. (He hasn’t been hungry in so long.)

He can’t help the way he tenses.

The pack…

God, the pack. Stiles had wondered why they hadn’t been around so far, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to face them. At all. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be.

He doesn’t want to know what they think of him now, and he especially doesn’t want to know what they’ll think of him after they find out where he’s been.

It’s pretty obvious from Derek though, that they think he abandoned them. They should, because that’s basically what he did, and having to face their anger and betrayal, their hurt, their pain? Just thinking about it makes his legs want to give out underneath him.

“I can leave before then,” Stiles says, closing the fridge quietly but never actually looking up at Derek. He can hear the way the werewolf shifts his weight though, can hear the gentle clink when he sets his dirty dishes in the sink and then runs water over them.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” the werewolf eventually says.

 _I think it’s a fucking perfect idea,_ Stiles doesn’t say.

“Where are you even going to go?”

“I told you, to visit my dad.”

“And after that?”

Stiles presses his lips together tightly and doesn’t speak, still avoiding eye contact like his life depends on it. Another habit he’s formed.

“Are you going to go back to Chicago?”

The urge to flinch away from even the idea of returning there is so fucking strong that even though Stiles tries to hold it back he knows Derek catches it anyways.

“No. Never,” he replies, and he wants his voice to be steely and strong but it just comes out sounding almost like a plea.

He can almost physically feel the way Derek’s eyes narrow on him, but the werewolf doesn’t push or prod. His dark presence at the edge of Stiles’ vision shifts and then leaves, footsteps heading towards the living room followed by the sound of a TV being turned on.

Stiles blinks at the kitchen around him, at the wooden floors and the soft lighting.

It’s early, but he could leave right now. Right this second. He has to walk all the way to the cemetery anyways, it’d be better to get a head start while he can. He doesn’t even have to tell Derek anything, can just slip right out of his life and the pack’s like he did three years ago.

He picks at the hem of the shirt he’s wearing; it’s too big on his near-gaunt frame but it’s soft and comfortable. It also belongs to Derek though, and Stiles isn’t really comfortable with leaving in it. He’s pretty sure the alpha threw away his clothes though, so he doesn’t have much of a choice. At least he still has his tennis shoes, even if the socks went missing with his t-shirt and jeans.

Slipping back up stairs, he pulls said shoes on, wincing a little at the way they scrape at his bare feet, especially the backs of his heels. It’s fine though, he can deal for a little while longer. Then he heads for the front hall, the kitchen on his right, the living room on the left.

He doesn’t even touch the front door before a large, warm hand is curling around his upper arm, pulling him to a gentle but complete stop.

“I said I didn’t want you to leave.”

Stiles doesn’t turn around. “You said you thought it was a bad idea.”

“Stiles.”

“I need to go.”

“Come back after.” It’s not a request.

Stiles glances over his shoulder at Derek, though he keeps his body angled away. The hand on his arm hasn’t moved, and the warmth of it is starting to scorch him through the fabric of Derek’s shirt.

For once, Stiles actually looks the werewolf in the face. He doesn’t meet his eyes, but he does trace the alpha’s features, studies the corners of his mouth and the way his brow is pulled low.

“Why?” he eventually asks.

It takes Derek an equally long amount of time to admit, “I want an explanation. I _…we_ deserve to know. Where you were, what happened.”

Damn, so he isn’t going to get out of that after all. Stiles sighs and slumps under the weight of that hand, before turning back into the living room and plopping himself down on the couch. 

He could go visit his dad now, and come back after like Derek suggested. But he doesn’t want to come back after; if things go to plan he won’t be _able_ to.

Besides, if he left right now he’s pretty sure Derek would just go with him, and he can’t really have that.

The wolf sits down beside him, close enough to make Stiles a little wary, but still with a good chunk of space between them. Then he props one elbow on the back of the couch, leans his cheek against his fist, and stares pointedly, waiting.

Stiles shifts uncomfortably, eyes sliding towards Derek and then snapping away again.

God, he doesn’t want to do this.

“Would it be easier if I asked specific questions?” Derek asks when it becomes apparent Stiles can’t and won’t do it by himself. The human nods, though it’s a reluctant gesture.

“Okay, so, where did you transfer to after Stanford?”

“…nowhere.”

“Nowhere?” the wolf parrots, eyebrows drawing low in confusion.

Stiles shakes his head.

“So you didn’t finish college.”

“No. Only that first semester.”

“Why?”

That’s the million dollar question, Stiles supposes. Because answering that means starting the story from the very beginning, telling Derek absolutely everything.

“Okay,” he sighs, rubbing tiredly at his face. “Just don’t interrupt me, okay? This is going to suck.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything, a sign of his apparent agreement to the human’s request.

Stiles fixes his gaze on a spot on the couch but then lets it grow distant, eyes glossing over as he twists his fingers nervously, picking at his cuticles with ragged nails.

“There was this party,” he starts. “At Stanford, and I don’t remember how I got invited, but I did. It was huge, there were so many people dancing and so much alcohol. I wasn’t really drinking, but it was still fun. And then I met…met this guy.”

Garrett. He’d been tall and built, leaning casually against the far wall and very obviously watching Stiles as he’d danced. Pale blue eyes, dark hair, biceps that reminded Stiles of a certain werewolf. He’d been gorgeous and the absolutely first guy to show that much interest in Stiles.

Stiles can’t even say his name now.

“We um, we hooked up. And then after that we ended up dating. He…”

The sound of a phone ringing cuts Stiles off, and he blinks, clearing the distant look in his eyes as he focuses in on Derek who’s pulling his cell out of his pocket.

“Sorry,” he says, frowning down at the screen before swiping to ignore the call. “Didn’t know the number. I’ll turn the sound off.”

Not even a second later it’s ringing again, the same number if Derek’s scowl is anything to go by, and again he swipes to ignore the call. By the third time it rings, and there’s no time in between them for the wolf to turn the volume down, he’s starting to look a little murderous.

Stiles stares at the phone in growing horror, and he can physically feel the color drain from his cheeks.

“Can I?” he asks faintly, holding out a hand.

Derek gives him an incredulous look but passes the still ringing phone over.

It’s Garrett’s number.

oOo

Stiles had been madly in love with Garrett.

He still remembers their first date, a few days after the night they’d hooked up at the party.

Garrett had taken him to this huge arcade downtown, and they’d spent hours in there playing games and laughing, competing with each other and flirting shamelessly. Afterwards, they’d walked down the street to a hole in the wall pizza joint with the greasiest, cheesiest pizza Stiles has tasted to date. They’d kissed outside the restaurant, chaste and gentle and new, so different from the way Garrett had pinned him down before and dominated his mouth.

Stiles had liked it. Hell, he’d loved it. But that gentle kiss? Yeah, he’d loved that too.

It was the first and last time Garrett was ever sincerely gentle with him.

oOo

“Don’t answer it.”

Stiles’ skin has gone chalky, and he’s trembling where he sits as he hands the cell back.

Derek glances down at the phone in his hand, and then at the man sitting before him. He doesn’t really understand what’s happening here, doesn’t know why Stiles’ scent has gone thick with anxiety and fear or why his heart has started racing and tripping over itself, beating out a desperate rhythm.

“Please,” Stiles whispers when Derek doesn’t respond, and he meets the wolf’s eyes for once. Their golden brown depths are frightened and wide, a far cry from the apathy and pain Derek had found in them this morning.

“Yeah, alright,” he finds himself agreeing. Holding down the button on the side of the phone turns it off, and the sudden silence when the ringtone cuts out is startling to say the least.

But Stiles doesn’t relax, and he’s still staring at the phone like he’s just waiting for it to jump up and bite him.

“Who was that?”

“It was him.”

“Him?” Derek repeats, until the answer dawns on him. “The guy you were dating, that was him?”

Stiles nods but doesn’t speak, and though his gaze isn’t distant like before, it’s still fixed on the small amount of couch between them.

There’s a picture beginning to form in Derek’s mind, one he doesn’t like in the least.

“Why was he calling me?”

The human visibly swallows and shifts uncomfortably where he sits, his fingers making aborted twitching motions.

“I don’t…he…he knows I don’t have anyone else to go to,” Stiles admits

“He knows who I am. Wait, did you give him my number?”

At that, Stiles does look up, surprise flashing across his features as he shakes his head. “No! No, absolutely not. He probably…right after we moved, he took my phone from me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he saved all the numbers in it before he got rid of it.”

Derek really, really doesn’t like what he thinks is being implied here. The anger must show on his face in one way or another, because Stiles shifts away from him on the couch, putting more distance between them.

“He took your phone from you?”

Stiles nods miserably. “And my Jeep. My laptop. Basically everything that I owned, so that I’d be dependent on him,” he says, voice dropped down to a near whisper. “It wasn’t…wasn’t all at once, you know? It was just little stuff that built up over time. Before I knew it he was controlling everything I did, everyone I saw, and I didn’t know how to get out.

He…it was good at first, really. I loved him, or at least I thought I did, and he told me he loved me too. But he got jealous really easily, didn’t like it when I tried to talk to you guys or anything. Didn’t even like it when I tried to call my dad. I figured I could deal with it though, convince him he didn’t need to be that jealous over time. But it only got worse and I just…well, you know what happened, I stopped keeping in touch with everyone except my dad.  Even then, after a while, I had to start using payphones because Ga…the guy, he’d get pissed. I couldn’t give up talking to my dad though, no matter what, he was my dad and I love…loved, I loved him. We were all each other had for a long time.

I wanted to tell him, wanted to tell _you_ so bad, because I knew you guys would protect me in a heartbeat, but I couldn’t. I..it felt pathetic, to go running to you, tell you that I was in an abusive fucking relationship, but that I loved the bastard and I didn’t want to hurt him, I just wanted out. There’s part of me even now that still loves him, that wants him to be safe, but most of me...most of me fucking hates him, almost as much as I hate myself for letting him do that to me. For letting him get away with it for so damn long. Hell, it took my dad dying before I could finally pull away from him, and only because he’d never bothered to tell me about it in the first place. They talked to him, you know? The authorities. They called him, and I’m sure he played the sympathetic and distraught boyfriend, but he never bothered to pass the information on to me, knew I wouldn’t be content with just staying put with him when the last of my family had fucking died. But I found out, it took six months but I figured it out and I-“

The loud shrill of a phone ringing has both Derek and Stiles jerking with surprise, Stiles because he was so engrossed in his story, and Derek because he was focusing on keeping himself in check the longer the human talked. His chest is tight and painful, new anger and pain mixing with that years old betrayal to create a frighteningly strong cacophony of emotions. But despite the strength of it, none of it is directed towards Stiles, at least not now that he knows.

The home phone rings again, startling and insistent.

If it’s even possible, Stiles goes even paler. The bruises on his face stand out in ugly relief.

“That’s him,” he murmurs, and Derek is up and off the couch like a gunshot. There’s a startled cry from behind him as he stalks into the kitchen, Stiles being surprised by the sudden movement, but before the werewolf can snatch the phone off the counter Stiles is pulling insistently at his arm.

“Don’t!” he says, all panic and harsh breath. “Don’t, god don’t please don’t answer it, please please please.”

Before Derek can do much more than pause and glance at the human clinging to him, Stiles has darted in front of him and ripped the home phone’s cable from the wall, silencing it once and for all. His breath doesn’t ease those, his heart doesn’t slow. If anything both just ratchet up, faster and faster until Derek’s worried the human is just going to collapse right there on his kitchen floor.

“Stiles?”

“I have to go,” the man says, soft and dazed. When he turns around his eyes are wide and vacant, unseeing. “I have to leave. He knows. He knows, he’s going to come and I can’t…I have to…”

“Stiles,” Derek tries again, but Stiles just rushes past him, unsteady on his feet even as he heads for the front door. Ready to run without even fucking thinking about it.

“Stiles!” Derek snarls the word this time, and catches the human by the arm before he can get farther than the front foyer. It’s a repeat of what happened earlier, only this time Stiles seems like he’s on the verge of a mental breakdown. Or, well, closer to one at least than he was before. It’s distressing, to say the least.

The harsh tone seems to work though, and Stiles pauses, shakes himself a little bit. When he turns to look back at Derek, his gaze is clearer and more focused, but no less panicked.

“You have to let go of me,” he says. “You have to let go, I need to leave right now. He’ll track the number, he’s probably already on his way here. He was probably already in Beacon Hills when he started calling, he knows this is where I’d come and now he has your address and I need to leave because it’s not safe and I need to visit my dad before I…I…”

His voice trails off, his gaze going glassy, and Derek gives Stiles a gentle shake to focus him again.

“Before you what?” His own voice is harsh, guttural, but he can’t help that right now. He’s gotten better over the last few years at controlling himself, keeping his anger in check, but this situation is putting that restraint to the test. Having a pack member return, only to find out that he’d not betrayed them, that he’d practically been _kidnapped_? And rather than going after him, he and the rest of the pack had just sat back and nursed their hurt feelings like a bunch of children, jesus fucking christ. His goddamn mate, and he didn’t know he didn’t…They should have known better, they should have-

“Before I kill myself.”

All of Derek’s thought processes slam to a sudden and immediate stop, his mind white and glaringly blank for all of three seconds.

“What?”

“I said I need to visit my dad before I kill myself,” Stiles repeats, whiskey eyes fixed on a point just over Derek’s shoulder, and his tone soft and almost sad. But determined too, so determined it makes the werewolf ache.

“No.”

The sharp bark of the word has Stiles actually looking at Derek again. “Excuse me.”

“I said no, Stiles. I won’t allow it.” His throat sticks on the words, but he still pushes them out, “I just got you back, I’m not giving you up again so soon.”

Brown eyes flicker over his face, unsure, testing. “You…” Stiles starts, pauses, tries again, “you want me back?”

Using the grip he still has on Stiles’ arm, Derek reels him in, pulls him tight against his chest and holds him there. Stiles scent is buried under anxiety, pain, fear, but it’s still there, and he drinks it in greedily.

“You’ve always been pack, Stiles. We…we thought you left. Thought you abandoned us, that you didn’t want us,” _didn’t want_ _me_ , “but we should have known better. You’re so loyal. You never would have left under your own volition.”

Stiles squirms in his arms and pushes at Derek’s chest until the werewolf loosens his grip and Stiles can lean away from him.

“I did leave of my own volition though,” he protests, shaky and timid. “I left all of you, I knew what I was doing when I agreed to move to Chicago with him.”

“Did you really know?” Derek counters, unable to help himself from trailing his fingers softly down the human’s face. “You said you thought you could convince him not to be jealous after a while. You thought you’d be able to get in contact with us again, be able to visit and stay part of the pack, right?”

Stiles drops his head but nods anyways, and Derek lets out a little sigh.

“You didn’t abandon us. _We_ abandoned _you_. If we had just tried a little harder we could have tracked you down, found where he’d taken you so we could get you back. But instead we all blamed you and sat around feeling sorry for ourselves. That’s not your fault.”

“If it’s not my fault,” the human says, and his heart trips at the words, like he’s not entirely convinced of them yet, “then it’s not the pack’s fault either. That you didn’t come after me, I mean. We didn’t…nobody abandoned anybody else.”

Huffing a little laugh, Derek can’t help the relieved smile that pulls at his lips, and the way he tugs Stiles forward again, holding him close like he’s wanted to for so fucking long. Slowly, Stiles arms wind their way around his neck, holding him back just as tight. Derek can’t say he really agrees with what the human was saying, because he still feels guilty as all hell for never even _trying_ , but that’s not important right now. What’s important is that Stiles knows he’s wanted, needed, and he’s not going to…it doesn’t even bear thinking about.

After a long, comfortable moment, he murmurs, “You’ll stay right, you’ll let me, let us, protect you from him if he shows up?”

Stiles stiffens, corrects him with a small, “When, not if,” but then he relaxes again, in increments. “Yeah, I’ll let you. And I won’t…won’t try to kill myself, not yet at least, alright?”

“Good.”  

They stay that way, holding each other in soft silence, until the sound of a car door slamming makes Stiles damn near jump out of his skin. His breath hitches and his heart pounds frantically against his ribcage, like it’s trying to escape, but Derek just smoothes a hand down the human’s spine and murmurs in his ear, “Relax. It’s just the pack. It’s not him.”

Stiles gives a choked little laugh, though some of the tension does bleed from his shoulders. “I’m not sure that’s much better.”

“It’ll be okay. They’ll understand, I promise.”

Shaky hands find purchase on Derek’s shoulders, sliding down to his chest before pushing against him until he once again releases his hold on Stiles. He looks a little panicked, like he might throw up any second, but also determined.

“Right. I can do this. I can totally do this.”

Derek smiles, touches Stiles face again and says, “Right,” just as the front door opens.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS; 
> 
> Stiles is in an abusive relationship where his boyfriend controls his life (takes his belongings, refuses to let him talk to certain people, keeps him from working or going to school so he's completely dependent) and it's also implied that the boyfriend is physically abusive, although it's not graphically depicted in this chapter. Garrett, the boyfriend, keeps Stiles from learning that his father died of a stroke, and when he finds out Stiles races to Beacon Hills where he plans to visit his father's grave before killing himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I expected and I apologize for that. But hey, the story is finished!

Chaos breaks loose the moment the rest of the pack starts to filter into the house.

There’s yelling, and shouting, and Scott making this horrible, wounded expression, like somebody just ran over his dog and then laughed about it, and Derek is trying to calm everyone down but they’re just not listening and Stiles…well Stiles, he stutters out a panicked, “N-n-no.”

And then he blacks out.

oOo

_Their apartment is on the fifth floor, and it’s a tiny one bedroom thing that always has them underfoot of each other. It’s downtown, and Stiles likes to sit at the living room window in his favorite chair, and watch the hustle and bustle of Chicago life as it goes on below him. He doesn’t really get the chance to experience it very much, but getting to see other people live their lives is better than nothing._

_When Garrett’s at work, there’s not a lot for Stiles to entertain himself with. He’s not allowed to touch Garrett’s computer, and the TV can be iffy sometimes, because his boyfriend can get weird about the shows he likes (mainly when he inevitably gets obsessed with something and starts binge watching it; Garrett doesn’t like Stiles’ attention straying away from him). The few books they own are ones Stiles has already worked his way through at least twice, and he spends the mornings cleaning, which means he has virtually nothing to do all afternoon until he needs to start on dinner before Garrett gets home. God, he feels like a fifties house wife. He’d laugh if it didn’t make him feel so pathetic._

_The sound of the front door unlocking surprises Stiles out of his thoughts, and he turns as his boyfriend comes in, smiling brightly at him. He locks the door behind himself, dumps his work bag on the kitchen table, and then comes to give Stiles a swift kiss._

_“Hey cutie, guess who got the rest of the day off?”_

_“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” Stiles replies honestly, returning the kiss, and he can feel the hands cupping his cheeks tense ever so slightly. Fuck._

_Garrett backs off just enough to stare straight into Stiles’ eyes, his brow drawn low and his lips pursed. “You’re not happy that I’m home early?”_

_Quickly, Stiles tries to back track. “No, of course I am!”_

_But it’s like Garrett didn’t even hear him. “You’re not glad to see me?”_

_Growing desperate, Stiles grabs at his boyfriend’s wrist, and pastes his biggest smile on his face. “Garrett, babe, you know I’m always happy to see you.”_

_The hands on his face slide down until just one of them is grabbing his chin, grip tight enough to make Stiles wince. “I just wanted to spend time with my boyfriend, is that so much to ask for?” Garrett asks, low and dangerous. Before Stiles can do much more than open his mouth, he’s already talking again._

_“I just wanted to come home and relax and spend time with you, and all you’re going to do is fucking complain? Goddamnit Stiles, you always do this! I try to do something nice for you, and you just throw it back in my face!”_

_With a noise of disgust, he pushes Stiles violently away, and Stiles only just barely catches himself before he falls off the chair entirely, though his head does crack painfully against the window. Grumbling under his breath, Garrett makes his way into the kitchen where Stiles can hear the distinct sounds of his boyfriend opening a beer._

_At least he hopes its beer, and not the tequila._

_Rubbing at his jaw, Stiles stands tentatively and makes his way into the kitchen. His stomach is in knots, fear and anxiety and the sick swoop of discomfort that happens whenever someone he cares for is upset with him. He knows he shouldn’t care for this man, knows Garrett probably doesn’t deserve it the way he treats Stiles, but he can’t help himself. Garrett is practically all he has anymore. He comes up behind the other man and wraps his arms around Garrett’s waist, pressing his face between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades._

_“Babe,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to seem unhappy. I am, I love you and I’m so happy you want to spend time with me. Please. You know I love you.”_

_Garrett shakes him off with a little roll of his shoulders. His blue eyes are angry when he turns to look at Stiles, but Stiles recognizes the look on his boyfriend’s face. It’s the one that says he’s going to need to prove himself, prove his love and devotion and loyalty._

_Something heavy settles into Stiles’ stomach as he sinks to his knees right there in the middle of the kitchen, Garrett watching him the whole way and not saying a word as Stiles reaches for his belt._

oOo

Not waking up in his Chicago apartment is still disorienting for Stiles. He blinks rapidly, tries to quell the automatic response of panic in his chest, and just breathes. The mattress is comfortable and soft, and the comforter tucked around him smells fucking _amazing_. His eyes flutter closed for a brief moment as he presses his face to it. It’s like crushed leaves and fresh air and something deep and musky that makes him want to arch his back like a cat and maybe rub it all over himself.

It’s only when he feels soft fingers carding through his over-long hair that he remembers where, exactly, he is.

The hand is dislodged when he sits up suddenly, and then he groans a little as black dots swim in front of his eyes.

“Hey,” Derek says softly from somewhere beside him. “Take it easy, you’ve been out for a while.”

When he’s sure that his vision isn’t going to spontaneously give out on him, Stiles turns to look at the alpha. The room they’re in is unfamiliar to him, and the bed is freaking huge. Like, you could fit ten people in there and it wouldn’t be all that cramped. Which is probably by design he realizes; the wolves always did like a good puppy pile after the full moon, and the closer to their alpha it was, the better. Which also means that this is Derek’s bed, and like two seconds ago he was honestly considering rolling around in the amazing scent of…well, Derek he guesses.

He can physically feel his face warm, but he doesn’t do anything but clear his throat. “Yeah, I’m a little dizzy. What…what happened?”

Derek looks rather amused, but his expression closes off at the question, his eyes going stormy. “The pack came home and overwhelmed you the moment they stepped through the door. At least I think that’s what happened. One moment everyone was yelling, and the next you were blacking out and I had to catch you before you could hit your head.”

Oh…right. Yeah, that did happen. Stiles ducks his head and rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, I just-“

“No, hey,” Derek interrupts, one crooked finger gently guiding Stiles’ chin up so that he’s looking at the werewolf again. “It wasn’t your fault so there’s nothing to apologize for. They were being assholes and all the shouting and noise and emotion got to you when you were already having a pretty bad day. It’s fine.”

Stiles worries at his lip for a moment before deciding it’s not worth it to try and argue with Derek over something so trivial, so he changes tracks instead. “Are they still here?”

“The pack? Yeah, they’re all downstairs.”

“And did you..?”

“Did I tell them where you’ve been? Yeah, but only because they needed to know in order to calm down and stop being assholes, and also so they’d understand why I put them on guard.”

It’s a reminder that Stiles doesn’t really want, and he flinches enough that Derek’s hand slips off his face. He instantly misses the warmth, but doesn’t chase after it, and the wolf just lets his hand fall back down to the bed.

“So I take it he hasn’t come yet?”

“No. He hasn’t.”

Stiles can’t help the way those words make him breathe a little easier, but he shakes his head anyways. “He’ll come. I know he will.” Then he tries to crawl out of bed, only for thick, strong arms to wrap around his waist and haul him back against an equally thick and strong chest.

“Ummm…”

Derek huffs a little from behind him, damp breath hitting the back of Stiles’ neck and making him shiver. “Do you really want to go sit awkwardly in the living room and try to talk to everyone like that?”

Confused, Stiles tilts his head and tries to peer back at Derek rather unsuccessfully. “Well, I mean, I’d rather have that conversation out there then in your bedroom. It’s going to be awkward no matter where we are.”

Derek just makes a little humming noise before giving a sharp whistle. Almost immediately Stiles can hear the sound of excited feet pounding on hardwood floors, and his first reaction is to jerk back into Derek’s safety. But then the bedroom door is being thrown open and distraught werewolves are tumbling through it, practically crawling over each other as they all pile into the bed.  

Someone is whining, high pitched and sad, as five wolves find various places and positions on the bed, all of them reaching out tentatively to place a hand somewhere on Stiles’ body. Like they can’t stand not being able to touch him.

Allison and Lydia are the last two to trail in, and even they crawl into the bed, though Allison automatically curls into Scott, and Lydia sits primly on the edge, away from everybody else.

More than a little confused, Stiles blinks at the sudden crowd around him, at the fingers tangled in his clothes and the open palms pressing against him. “Umm…”

Derek shifts slightly behind him. “After I told them what had happened, they were pretty upset.”

“I’m sorry!” Scott says from Stiles’ left, where he’s got his face practically mashed into Stiles’ hip, and his arm across the man’s lap. He was definitely the one whining Stiles decides, judging by the faint trace of tears in his eyes. “We didn’t know but we should have, we should have come after you but we didn’t and we were all just pissed but now you’re back and we can make it better! We can get rid of him, we promise, so please don’t leave again.”

Feeling his heart break a little, Stiles tentatively places a hand on Scott’s arm. Once upon a time they were like brothers, the absolute best of friends. Even now he can feel that bond between them, frayed and rusting with time and neglect, but still alive.

“It’s okay,” he eventually says, and from down near his feet Erica gives a little growl. Her slim fingers wrapped around his ankle squeezing tight enough to make him wince but then immediately let up.

“It’s not okay!” the she wolf snaps.

Isaac, on Stiles’ right and with one arm wrapped around Stiles’ calf, makes a noise of agreement. “It’s really not.

Boyd is the only one besides Lydia who is sitting up, and he’s to the right and slightly behind Stiles. The way his body’s tilted, Stiles thinks he might have his head resting on his alpha’s shoulder, but he can’t tell for sure.

“We’re all sorry,” the quiet wolf says, and that seems to close the conversation nicely. For a long time everyone simply cuddles up together, drinking in Stiles’ presence.

Which makes him feel really bad for exactly how uncomfortable he is right now. He can’t help it, he hasn’t had this kind of contact in…well, three years. These days comfort and affection are pretty tightly connected with pain for him. He starts squirming only a minute into their little love fest.

By five minutes, Stiles is dying a little bit. He needs space, he needs air to breathe. Luckily, Derek seems to clue in because he orders his puppies out of the room in a soft but firm voice. They’re all reluctant to move, fingers trailing Stiles’ skin for as long as possible, and Lydia even crawls into the bed to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

As soon as they’re gone, Derek is moving out of his space as well, and Stiles lets out a shaky breath.

“Fuck. Thank you.”

A warm hand settles against the nape of his neck, not pressing, just there, and Stiles finds it comforting rather than smothering. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just…” Stiles rubs tiredly at his eyes and gives a little sigh. “I’m fine. Just not used to having that many people touching me at once.”

“I’ll make sure the pack knows not to overwhelm you,” Derek assures.

There’s a beat of silence, and Stiles doesn’t look up, just fixes his gaze to the bed spread. “You guys are being really understanding,” he says after a while. “Like…scarily so.”

The hand on the back of neck does squeeze then, just once, gently. “ You’re pack, Stiles. We may not have been there for you for the last three years, but you can rest assured that we’ll be here for you now.”

“I spent so long thinking I wasn’t pack anymore,” the human admits quietly, feeling his traitorous eyes prickle threateningly. Before Derek can pull him in, he’s already leaning into the alpha’s warmth, putting his head on Derek’s shoulder and giving a pathetic little snuffle. “I came here hoping you wouldn’t turn me away for the night; I was too exhausted to keep walking. I never thought…I never thought I’d be let back in. That you’d listen.”

oOo

_“Garrett, please!”_

_“No, Stiles. You know how I feel about them, and still you go behind my back, betray me! When you know damn well, just like I do, that they’ll try to steal you from me.”_

_Stiles clasps his hands together, tries his hardest to look small and nonthreatening. “Please,” he tries again, eyes fixed on the touch screen in his boyfriend’s hand. “I won’t go with them, I promise. I haven’t even been talking to them lately! I just want to keep my phone.”_

_His boyfriend’s eyes are cool and too-blue as he assesses Stiles. Then he glances at the phone, shrugs, and walks off. “If it’s true that you don’t talk to them anymore, then you don’t really need this,” he throws over his shoulder. “They’re not your friends anymore anyways.”_

_Stiles feels his heart break a little more at the words._

oOo

Derek wants to ask, he really does, about why Stiles didn’t think he’d be let back in, but there are a few other things he thinks should be answered first.

“How did you even get from Chicago to Beacon Hills?”

“Busses. And when that didn’t work, I walked.”

“Jesus, that’s-“

“Yeah, a really long ways. I barely slept, only got little naps on the bus, and I didn’t have any money for food.”

Derek sighs, cards his hand up into the fine hairs on the nape of Stiles’ neck. The human humms lightly and wriggles closer to him, unconsciously seeking comfort even though he was so uncomfortable with it a few minutes before. He’d like to think it’s just his presence that relaxes Stiles, but he’s pretty sure it has more to do with a single wolf being less overwhelming than a whole pack.

Another few minutes pass in silence before Derek finds he can’t help himself anymore. There’s something that’s been niggling at the back of his mind for a while now, and simply letting it go isn’t an option. He closes his eyes and stops the unconscious shifting of his fingers in Stiles’ hair. Starts his question with a low, slow, “Where you really...” and then lets it hang in the air.

Beside him, Stiles shifts, but he doesn’t pull his head up from the alpha’s shoulder. “Was I really going to kill myself?” he finishes, perceptive as always and equally as quiet.

“Yeah.”

Stiles does move then, picks his head and fixes Derek with this solemn amber gaze, pain and deep understanding darkening that whisky gold Derek has always loved.

“You’ve gotta understand that when I came back,” he starts, pauses to take a shaky breath before he continues. “When I came back, I thought there was nothing here for me. I thought I was coming back to visit my father’s grave for the first and last time, in a town where my past friends didn’t want anything to do with me because I had essentially torn myself from the pack without a word of goodbye. The only thing I knew for certain was that Garrett was going to be coming after me, sooner rather than later, and that I’d rather be dead than to let him catch up to me. I’d rather die than let him take me back to Chicago, to that tiny apartment where every part of my life was controlled. Do you understand?”

It’s the first time Stiles has ever mentioned the name of this guy. _Garrett_. It’s so deceptively normal, and yet, the human’s story makes something dark and angry burst in Derek’s chest. Nobody should feel like they’re that backed into a corner. Derek has been there during his darker days, which is exactly why he finds it completely unacceptable that Stiles is also currently there, or at least was when he showed up yesterday.

His voice is rough when he answers, “Yeah, I understand.”

Stiles nods decisively, like that’s the end of the conversation, and leans back in to put his head on Derek’s shoulder. The alpha’s response is automatic; he puts his hand on the nape of Stiles’ neck again, and he realizes belatedly that it’s right where he’d place a claiming bite if they were ever to mate.

Fuck.

“There’s something I should probably tell you,”

“What’s that?”

Derek finds himself hesitating. “It’s kind of…well, I knew about it before you ever left. But I didn’t want to tell you then because I wanted you to go out and live your life.”

The words make Stiles lift his head again, gaze curious but guarded. “Okay, that doesn’t raise alarm bells or anything.”

“It’s nothing bad!” the wolf is quick to promise, and then really thinks about if that’s true or not. “At least, I don’t think it is.”

Stiles’ eyes narrow a little; his body still radiates some level of comfort, but he’s leaning away from Derek now, and his wolf whines at the loss of closeness. He opens his mouth, wants to say the words that have been on his tongue for _years_. Say, _we’re mates_ , and just be out with it.

But a brief howl rocks the silence before a sound can come through his parted lips, and his head jerks towards the noise, shoulders tense and guard up. Stiles is also stiff beside him, radiating fear and uncertainty now, all comfort bled from him.

“He’s here?” he asks, his voice slightly shaky.

“Yeah.”

oOo

When they go downstairs, the pack is gathered in a tense little circle in the front foyer. Stiles shifts nervously from foot to foot as every eye in the room turns to him, and then jokes, “For your sake I hope he didn’t hear that howl,” to try and relieve some of the tension.

Scott is the only one to smile at the lame attempt, but it’s enough, something in his easy features making the line of tension in Stiles’ spine relax some.

It instantly snaps back into place when Erica says, “He’s climbing the front steps.”

Stiles’ breath damn near stops in his chest when a quiet knock sounds in the electrified air, and it’s only Derek’s comforting touch that allows him to exhale shakily.

“C’mon,” the alpha says, gently guiding him towards the living room. Over his shoulder he calls, “Boyd, you answer the door, everyone else I want you out of sight. I want to try and get rid of him with as little violence as possible.”

Stiles can’t help his little snort. “You see my face right, the bruises? Yeah, you won’t be able to do this without violence.”

Which just makes everyone in the room tense up, but they all move into the living room, letting Boyd answer the door as they very obviously eavesdrop. The two humans (and one banshee) a little more obviously than anyone else.

At the first sound of Garrett’s voice, just a pleasant enough “Hello,” Stiles goes still and rigid, heart pounding desperately against his chest.

He can’t quite catch Boyd’s response, the large man talking too quietly, but he can hear what Garrett says next.

“Actually, I’m looking for my boyfriend. He said this is where he was going to be.”

Again, Boyd’s words are too quiet to catch, but everyone certainly hears the rather loud, “This is where he said he was going! I’m just coming to pick him up.”

In a low, almost-a-growl voice, Derek murmurs, “Just bring him in.” Stiles stiffens next to him but doesn’t protest, not even when he hears Garrett’s thanks and the sound of shoes on hardwood and the front door closing.

He’s not prepared for Garrett to round the corner though, to see broad shoulders and dark hair and bright blue eyes that he almost automatically shrinks from.

“Stiles,” he says, a reprimand formed as a greeting.

The living room is silent and tense, everyone waiting to see what Stiles will do, if he wants them to step in for him or not. He doesn’t, but he also doesn’t really think he can stand up for himself either. So he just sits there. Dead quiet.

Eventually, as Stiles knew he would, Garrett gets impatient. He shifts his weight and frowns, says, “Well come on. We gotta start the drive back.”

“I haven’t visited my dad yet.” It’s the first words he’s said since his boyfriend –no, his _ex_ \- since his ex showed up, and they make several of the wolves in the room flinch. Like they’re still smarting from that particular wound too, though Stiles knows none of their grief can be as raw and visceral as his is right now. Not when he didn’t know for so damn long.

Garrett makes to take a step forward, talking all the while about how they can stop by the cemetery on their way out of town. But Boyd grabs his arm firmly and doesn’t let him move an inch, which Stiles is grateful for. The more space between them, the better. But it makes Garrett scowl and turn to the werewolf. They’re pretty much the same height, and it only serves to emphasis just how _huge_ Garrett is, because he’s not even dwarfed standing next to the largest, buffest supernatural creature Stiles has ever known. If anything, Garrett just looks larger than normal so close to Boyd.

“What’s your problem?” the man snaps, and then for the first time since he came in, he seems to notice everyone else in the room. His blue eyes scan in a quick circle, assessing. “What in hell is going on here.”

Derek shifts on the couch, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back to appear casual. It also just happens to coincide with his arm finding its way across Stiles’ shoulders, anchoring him with its comforting heat and weight, but also making Garrett’s anger visibly ratchet up a notch.

In his calmest alpha voice, Derek says, “Stiles isn’t going anywhere with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Feeling slightly emboldened by Derek’s silent support, Stiles speaks up again. “I’m not going back to Chicago with you, Garrett.”

Again, those assessing blue eyes flicker around the room, like he’s trying to find some obvious cause for what’s happening right now. After a moment his features smooth out and his lips twitch up and he gives an ugly little snort that lacks any real amusement. “Oh, I see,” he drawls, all cocky and sure. “He told you I was abusing him, right?”

Garrett glances around the room, trying to garner support from his audience. “He told you I smacked him around or something, gave him those bruises?”

Derek is suddenly tense beside Stiles, and the arm around the human’s shoulders withdraws as Derek leans forward. There’s a low rumble in his chest, sub vocal and dangerous, but Garrett doesn’t seem to hear it because he just plows right on.

“Did he also tell you that he asked me to give him those bruises?” His lips slide into a slimy smirk. “Because he did. Begged for them even, so don’t let him try to lie to you. I only ever give him what he asks for, and you’d think I’d get a little more appreciation for it,” a sigh and despairing shake of his head, “instead, he repays me like this. Running off on his own, telling stories and causing trouble. C’mon Stiles, gigs up. Time to go home.”

Stiles’ jaw had set at some point during that speech, his eyes downcast and timid even as his teeth ground together. Before he can make the effort to pry open his mouth so he can speak, Derek is beating him to it.

“You forget,” the alpha near-growls, “that we knew him first.”

Garrett sneers, and then quickly schools his expression into something almost pitying. “Hate to say it, but people change. And Stiles? Well he’s really gone downhill in the last few years.”

Predictably, Scott jumps to Stiles’ defense, loudly and with so much honesty and trust behind his voice it makes Stiles shake a little. “If he’s gone downhill at all, it’s completely your fault! Stiles is amazing and selfless and brave and he’s definitely not a liar. He told us about you and we believe him, so no, he’s not going back with you. In fact this is going to be the very last time he ever sees you, and you him.”

“Hell of a time to decide he’s worth it,” Garrett counters, and this time he doesn’t bother to hide his sneer.

Erica’s lips purse angrily, but Lydia is the one who coolly says, “And that’s our fault for never coming after him. But it’s not a mistake we’re planning on making twice.”

Visibly getting frustrated, Garrett clenches and unclenches his fists by his side, randomly swinging his head one way and the other to keep his eye on the entire room. “So what?” he asks, “you’re just going to keep him from me? You can’t fucking do that. Our relationship isn’t any of your business!”

“It is when you’re being an abusive dick,” Derek growls.

“Garrett,” Stiles says, soft and pleading, heart pounding his chest. It’s a familiar tone of voice, usually accompanied by Stiles on his knees, or holding his swelling cheek, and it has the desired effect. Garrett’s shoulders loosen a little and he turns to Stiles looking a mix between hopeful and triumphant.

His face contorts unattractively when all Stiles says is, “You should really go.” Garrett moves so quickly that Boyd is caught off guard and his grip on the human’s arm falls away before he can stop it. But Garrett’s a human in a room full of supernatural creatures, and though he’s trying to bear down on Stiles on the couch, Derek is up and in his face in the infinitesimal space between breaths.

Derek is shorter and slighter than Garrett, but his bearing has always made him appear eight feet tall. Chin lifted, body relaxed but ready to spring into action should it be needed, he is confident and sure of himself as he faces down an enemy on his own home turf.

It’s this moment that it really hits Stiles that he’s being accepted back into the fold. He’s going to be pack again, he’s going to have that support and friendship and love. The unconditional kind that doesn’t come with strings or questions. The kind where his alpha will literally step in front of him to keep him safe and protected, where everyone will jump to his defense, and in turn he can do his best to defend them as well.

His chest swells, and he swears he hears his ribcage crack loudly as he’s filled from within. But it’s not painful; instead, he’s warm and content and just so…happy. Happy like he hasn’t been in two years.

And it doesn’t even matter that Garrett is screaming and making a scene, leaning over Derek to try and intimidate him. The other wolves all try to pull him off their alpha, but Derek gives them a signal to stand down and personally grabs Garrett by the back of neck, practically frog marches him out of the house and kicks him out once and for all.

oOo

_“Garrett, what’s this?”_

_Sties picks up the top piece of mail off the pile and turns it over in his hands. It’s addressed to him, which is extremely rare, but he doesn’t dare open it without permission. Still, he glances greedily at the sender’s name and address, excited to find that it’s been sent from Beacon Hills._

_Garrett glances over from where he’s sprawled lazy on the couch, but he’s already back to watching tv before he even finishes saying, “It’s nothing.”_

_“But it was sent to me,” Stiles presses hopefully._

_“Don’t open it,” is his boyfriend’s gruff response. “It’s just about your dad.”_

_It should excite him, but the tone of Garrett’s voice makes something cold start to sink into Stiles’ veins. “My dad?”_

_“Yeah,” Garrett says, bringing his beer idly to his lips to take a pull and then sighing afterwards. “Probably his will or something.”_

_His…his will. His father’s will._

_Stiles knows his eyes are wide, his face pale, and he can feel the faint flutter of his heart like he wants to fall into a panic attack. His weak, “My dad’s dead?” soft and lost, is met with nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement._

_His hands are shaking. Stiles stares blindly down at the letter clasped in them and tries to process the way his world has just turned on its axis, leaving him disoriented and confused._

_“I need,” he starts seconds, minutes, hours later, “I need to go back. He…I never got to see him…I have to…”_

_Garrett rolls his eyes and levers himself to his feet. “No,” he snaps, and pushes roughly past Stiles into the kitchen._

_It ends in the first real fight they’ve had in months, Stiles crying, Garrett yelling, blood on the tiles. They go to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, and when Stiles wakes up, his boyfriend has locked him in their bedroom to keep him from running off on his own while Garrett is at work._

_Too bad Stiles has always been good at picking locks. It’s also too bad he knows exactly where his boyfriend keeps a small emergency stash of money, just enough for Stiles to get a bus trip back home._

oOo

When Derek comes back into the house after watching Garrett peel angrily out his driveway, Stiles is in the same exact place as before, expression blank, eyes wide. Scott rushes over to him first, plopping down on the couch and dragging Stiles into his side with an arm around his shoulders.

Stiles’ initial reaction is to flinch, which makes Derek simultaneously angry and hurt, but the human settles pretty quickly, turning his face into Scott’s shoulder with a little grin on his lips.

“It’s over,” he says softly, wonderingly, and though he still stinks of anxiety and fear, his body language is slowly relaxing.

They end up with the entire pack piled together on the couch, though it means two people sit on the arms, Erica stretches out on the back like some kind of cat, and Allison has to sit on the floor with her head in Scott’s lap. Stiles babbles a little and they all let him and reveal in the strengthening scent of his relief, until he eventually grows uncomfortable with so much touching.

He levers himself to his feet and wanders aimlessly around the living room as they watch him. “Garrett will be back,” he says eventually, but he doesn’t seem too upset by that fact.

“And we’ll chase him away again!” Scott declares.

Derek vows a quiet, “As many times as it takes.”

When Stiles spins around, he’s wearing a bright smile on his face that fades in intensity even as they watch. He sways gently on his feet, but holds up a hand when every person in the room tenses to rush to his aid.

“M’okay,” he says, rubbing at his temple. “It’s just…there’s so much to process, you know? I think I’m gonna need some time.”

oOo

Some time turns about to three months or so.

During that period, Garrett comes back on several different occasions, and his attempts to get Stiles back become increasingly violent. That is, until Derek finally snaps and flashes red, red eyes at him and roars the roar of a protective mate. He doesn’t come back after that.

Also during that time, Stiles slowly starts to get back on his feet. They visit his dad once during that first month, and the rest of the month is a push and pull of trying to get the human out of bed and into a normal, functioning routine. When he’s shaken off the majority of the depression, he visits his dad more frequently, and slowly comes to terms with his death and their estrangement before that.

The pack is supportive and distant in turns, also coming to terms with their own emotions over Stiles’ absence and what had happened to him. There are days even Derek can’t look Stiles in the eye, still feeling too betrayed but also incredibly guilty for still harboring that resentment.

By around month three though, the confusing mess of Stiles’ bittersweet return has finally seemed to work itself out. And Stiles himself has settled down and learned to relax, laughing brightly, eating regularly, and only spending all day in bed when he’s being exceptionally lazy. He’s not perfect, but he is doing a hell of a lot better.

Which is why Derek decides it’s the perfect time to finally Stiles about their mate status. Better late than never, right?

Back when Stiles had first gone off to college, Derek had day dreamed and fantasized about all the different ways he could break the news. There were fancy restaurants and movie dates and sky writers, but out of all the lavish or funny or romantic things he could think of, he always came back to the same idea.

He takes Stiles out into the woods on a bright Saturday morning. The pack had been warned before hand, so they’re all avoiding both the house and the property, but have their phones on just in case something goes awry.

Stiles complains for the first twenty minutes as they hike, but eventually he falls fairly quiet (not perfectly so, he’s _Stiles_ ) and just sits back to enjoy the scenery. The sun’s bright, filtering down through the trees in pale, uneven patches, and the leaves shift restlessly above them in the breeze, a soft musical cadence. It’s not too hot, but not particularly cold either, the perfect temperature for wandering.

It takes forty minutes to get to the clearing. It’s backed up onto a small little cliff overlooking another part of the preserve, dark green spread out beneath a bright blue sky. The clearing itself is small and grassy, white wildflowers growing in sporadic patches, and the whole world seems to breathe easy here with bright birdsong and the soft sighs of the wind.

Derek pulls a blanket out of the pack he was carrying and lays it carefully on the ground. It takes a few minutes for Stiles to come sit down by him, because he’s wandering around and checking the place out, looking curious but relaxed and happy.

When he sits down, he gives the alpha a sunny smile. Derek expects him to ask about why they’re there exactly, but Stiles just flops back on the blanket, eyes fixed on the near-cloudless sky. He wiggles around for a moment, seeming to get comfortable, before settling.

For a while Stiles switches between lying with his eyes closed and watching the sky, and Derek watches him in turn. Eventually the werewolf lies down next to him, warm and comfortable where they’re stretched out together on the blanket.

It’s a good experience; they end up chatting idly and every time they fall into silence it’s a relaxed, companionable one. Stiles’ scent is light and happy and Derek doesn’t think he’s smiled this much in a really long time. He kinda feels like floating.

And that’s before Stiles turns to him, all bright, cheeky grin and sparkling whiskey eyes as he asks, “So, when are you going to confess to me?”

Derek just kisses him senseless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk Sterek to me on [tumblr](http://scribespirare.tumblr.com/)!


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